The True Archbishop of Envy (Re:Zero)

RE: A Deviated Path

It felt strange, no denying that. In the peaceful capital of Lugunica, where uniformed soldiers blended into the daily scene, patrolling the streets like clockwork, this was different—an abnormality that caught everyone's attention.

The locals, caught up in their daily routines, couldn't help but pause, sharing subtle glances that conveyed more than words could. The air held a quiet tension, as if the woman's presence had woven an unseen thread of uncertainty through the heart of the city.

The rhythmic symphony of footsteps and distant traffic seemed to soften, acknowledging her arrival. Heads turned, conversations hushed, and the ebb and flow of the crowd subtly adjusted to satisfy the curiosity she stirred. Some stole glances with questioning eyes, while others unabashedly locked onto her, their fascination plain to see.

Who was she? The curiosity of the locals knew no bounds. Female knights were practically unheard of at this point, so they stared unapologetically. Yet, amidst it all, the slow, rhythmic cadence of armor clanking echoed with each purposeful step she took.

Each footfall brought the distinct sound of boots meeting the ground, the subtle jingle of mail intertwining with the solid thud of armored soles. The metallic resonance, clear and authoritative, spoke of the weight she carried both in armor and purpose.

It was a sound that commanded attention, a declaration of her indomitable presence, and a message that instilled fear in the hearts of the weak.

A woman, obscured by scars and burns that adorned her face like battle-worn trophies, held a gaze that spoke volumes of both sorrow and indomitable strength. Hints of determination and an unyielding spirit flickered within the crevices of her weathered countenance. As she moved, the liquid silver of the chainmail whispered secrets known only to the shadows, a delicate mystery trailing in her wake.

The articulated gold-colored steel of her gauntlets bore intricate patterns, an ode to craftsmanship that merged elegance with lethality. Each finger, encased in its metallic sheath, seemed poised to wield both grace and power. The sheathed sword at her side, a relic with a mangled hilt, exuded an air of quiet anticipation, eager to be unsheathed and recount the tales within its tempered blade.

In the eerie half-light, she cast a spell of enigma upon those who beheld her. It was as if the very essence of shadows had been woven into her being, an ethereal manifestation of mystery that left an indelible mark on the minds of those who witnessed her passage. The Lugunicans, in later recounting the event, would recall the singular image of her long, frazzled red hair and the cape that defiantly endured the wind's tumultuous whispers. Her silhouette, etched against the feeble glow, lingered as a haunting reminder of a presence that transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding.

But what baffled them the most was that she was carrying a bag of groceries.

On the brink of the evening sunset, she materialized under the serene glow of yellow through the crowd of hustling civilians and disappeared from their sights just as quickly.

Why was she here? Call it a stroke of mere coincidence, a happenstance in a person's life that seemed odd but was bound to occur in the grand scheme of things.